Kiss the Cook
by Lilas
Summary: Four times Connor failed in the kitchen, and one time he didn't. McPriceley.


Title: Kiss the Cook

Summary: Four times Connor failed in the kitchen, and one time he didn't.

Note: Just a little lighthearted interlude in the _Healing_ universe and takes place over several years.. This can be read as a stand-alone. Brief mention of rape and horny men. And at last, McPriceley!

1.

By the time Elder Neeley and Elder Church arrived in Uganda for their mission, Connor had been there for two months and he'd been promoted to district leader for a month. He'd obviously kept all of the rules that had been in place when Elder Matthews had been their district leader— though there were some he'd have gladly gotten rid of if only he could—but he'd made a few minor modifications to the chores chart. Elder Matthews had been very egalitarian when it came to chores and everyone had rotated through them. But once Connor had his say, he'd taken a show of hands and assigned the Elders to the chores they wanted to do. For those that more than one person wanted to perform, the Elders would alternate; and for those obvious chores no one wanted to do, Connor assigned them based on how many other chores the Elders had accomplished that day.

It worked to a certain extent. What actually developed was a barter system. The Elders would exchange one unappealing chore for another and ultimately things always worked out. Although there was always a certain amount of drama surrounding these types of things. After all, there were certain things no one wanted to do and, despite being Mormons, they were all still teenage boys. Elder Poptarts always complained he ended up stuck with cleaning the bathroom—which was blatantly untrue since Connor had the Elders taking turns with that particular nasty business—but Elder Church always took it over from him in exchange for Elder Thomas to do the laundry, which the Elder also hated but to a lesser degree. Elder Neeley, on the other hand, hated going to the market, so Connor gladly took over the chore whenever it was his turn (much to everyone's pleasure since Elder Neeley would always forget something on the list). Elder Micheals never wanted to sweep and dust—and no one bought his excuse that he was allergic since it never seemed to be an issue until it was his turn to clean—so Elder Davis took over for him in exchange for a reprieve from having to deal with their compost pile.

Unfortunately for Connor, no one was willing to take over the one chore he really, horribly, _desperately_ never wanted to do. It seemed that none of the Elders currently present at the mission house had any desire or ability to cook. By sheer luck—and a touch of leadership prerogative—Connor had managed to escape cooking duties in the month since he'd come up with his system through clever manipulation of the chore chart. He supposed he should feel guilty about it, but the end result was that on the days he would have ended up in the kitchen, he took on more chores. So, ultimately, it was only fair someone else cooked that day. But the other Elders had started to notice and Connor knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that a grumble of rebellion was brewing.

So it was that he decided, albeit reluctantly, that he'd be better off if he just sucked it up and ripped off that bandaid. At least then maybe the other Elders would just take over for him indefinitely and he would never have to worry about accidentally poisoning someone with his cooking. It wasn't that Connor was modest or humble when it came to cooking. He knew it was nothing short of his kryptonite. He had tried his hands at it when he had started high school; simple things like making pasta or chicken. It was a wonder he hadn't burnt down the house or killed someone. He'd given up entirely after the frozen pizza fiasco his junior year of high school.

And now he'd have to try again and hope for a miracle. He knew that the only way the others wouldn't think he was exaggerating about his ineptitude in the kitchen was if he were to cook them something. He stared despondently at the cupboards as he tried to figure out what he could make that wouldn't either set the kitchen on fire or make someone sick if they ate it. He eyes landed on the bag of rice and he shrugged. In theory he knew how to make rice; just add water and boil it. In practice he'd never made it. But really, how hard could that be?

He cringed at the thought of the pasta he'd tried and failed to boil. Could one undercook rice? He'd just need to wait for all the water to evaporate and it should be fine. And they had some cabbage he could add to it. That should be a good enough meal. He wasn't about to try and cook any meats for the Elders; if they didn't like vegetarian, someone else could cook the protein because he wasn't touching that with a ten foot pole. With his luck, if he tried to cook up something, it'd be the chicken incident all over again: charred to a crisp on the outside, totally raw on the inside.

With his mind made up, he set to work.

Elder Church and Elder Neeley grudgingly made their way back to the mission house later that day. They knew they would be the first to arrive and be stuck with dinner duty despite the arduous day they'd had to endure. Both men had spent most of the day in the village helping Kimbay with her school lessons. And while it had been a very productive day, it had been nothing short of exhausting, and neither of them looked forward to having to cook dinner after having run down a herd of children ranging from ages three to fifteen. Unfortunately, it had almost become the unspoken rule that the first pair of Elders to get back to the house would be in charge of dinner that night. Every Elder had had to face the arduous challenge of trying to make something edible and appealing to the others from the provisions Elder McKinley had gotten from the market that week. However, it hadn't escaped anyone's notice that while Elder McKinley had no problem _shopping_ for the food, he never _cooked_ the food, ever. He ate cereal or a slice of bread for breakfast, whatever he could scavenge for lunch, and somehow always had more chores to complete than anyone else on nights that he would have been in charge of dinner.

So when they reluctantly opened the front door, they froze at the threshold as they tried and somehow failed to process what it was that they were looking at within the house. Black smoke danced across the ceiling and escaped from the open door, swirling into the rapidly dimming light of the sky and darkening the golden colors of the sunset. Both men scrunched up their noses at the acrid smell that followed the smoke and let out small, startled coughs. They looked at one another in confusion before a loud noise, followed by an unintelligible scream, had them running through the door and straight toward the kitchen, where the smoke seemed to originate.

Elder McKinley stood in the middle of what appeared to be a large scale disaster. His red hair was streaked with what appeared to be black soot, his cheeks were red—from overheating, frustration, burns, or embarrassment was anyone's guess at this point— and his hands were blotchy with what looked like burn blisters. Next to him, a pot on the extinguished stove seemed to be the culprit for the black smoke and acrid smell, and the crispy, charred remains of something unidentifiable lay on a plate. The newly arrived Elders shared a look of alarm and confusion before turning back toward the mess before them.

"Elder McKinley," Elder Neeley ventured, watching with no small amount of trepidation as the redhead turned to face him, his blue eyes holding a distinct crazed edge to them. "What happened?"

Elder McKinley let out a loud, shrill laugh, startling the other Elders who unconsciously took a step back toward the still open door. "What's it look like to you?"

Elder Church blinked rapidly, the hot smoke burning and irritating his eyes. "Did something blow up? I didn't think we kept any flammables in the house."

"And _what_ is _that_?" Elder Neeley questioned, pointing to the blackened things on the counter.

"Cabbage," Elder McKinley replied.

Elder Church and Elder Neeley stared at the unrecognizable pieces of cabbage. Slowly they both looked over at the stove and the still smoking pot and cringed when an ominous sounding pop echoed from it. Elder McKinley glanced over his shoulder at it and prodded whatever contents were in it with the wooden spoon he held in his hands.

"And that in there?" Elder Church finally dared ask.

"Rice," Elder McKinley replied, lifting the spoon to show black hard bits that had, maybe, if you squinted really hard and used your imagination, a minor resemblance to rice.

"Why is there burnt rice and cabbage in the house?" Elder Neeley inquired even as he took a step toward the stove. It was like watching a car crash; he just wanted to get closer to get a better look even though he knew he'd regret it.

"I knew you guys had started to wonder why it was that I never cooked dinner. So I was trying to do my part."

"Oh," Elder Church said softly, looking bashful. If Elder McKinley had picked up on their mood and possible conversations, there really was no point in trying to deny it.

"Well," Elder Neeley said and he watched, fascinated, as the rice remnants still continued to smoke. "I think it's safe to say we would all rather that you never try cooking dinner for us ever again. I'll talk to the other Elders. Maybe we could all alternate cooking nights, and you can just… do the dishes."

Elder McKinley couldn't have stopped the grateful smile that spread across his lips even if he'd tried. "Please. I tried," he said, gesturing at the mess that was the kitchen. "But I just… I can't cook to save my life. This isn't even the worst I've ever done."

"Then let's avoid that, yeah?" Elder Neeley replied, putting his hands on Elder McKinley's shoulders and steering him away from the stove. "How about you go take a shower, wash off all this… whatever," he said, gesturing up and down and pointing at all of Elder McKinley. "And meanwhile Elder Church and I will clean up this mess and get dinner started."

Elder McKinley nodded and made a beeline toward the bathroom. Elder Neeley turned back to look at the mess that was the kitchen and cringed. Elder Church opened the tiny window above the sink and turned to look at the pot resting on the stove.

"Do you think the pot is salvageable?" Elder Church asked.

Elder Neeley shrugged. "Let's hope so, because knowing Elder McKinley, he'll be devastated if he thinks he ruined it in his poor attempt at cooking."

"Well, guess I better get started on it and cleaning out the rest of the kitchen. How about you throw out those charred things and get started on dinner?"

"Sure," Elder Neeley agreed.

By the time the other Elders made it back to the house, the cabbage was in the garbage, the pot of burnt rice was soaking, but the smell of acrid smoke still lingered in the air. This was fine by Elders Church and Neeley who found it much easier to convince the other Elders of the horror they had come home to that evening. It also made it much easier to convince everyone that Elder McKinley should be kept far, far away from anything resembling cooking lest they come home to a burnt down house.

2.

To say the day had started off brilliantly and gone to poop faster than he could say _turn it off_ would be the biggest understatement of the year, Connor thought miserably as he stared at his hands resting on the chipped and worn down table top. After the disastrous pageant had unearthed the lies and made up stories Arnold had been teaching the villagers, the mission president had had no qualms about unceremoniously shutting down the Ugandan District Nine mission. He had left the village for Kampala a little over two hours ago, with orders for them to pack up their bags and join him the next day to get on the first flight back to the United States.

Connor had felt that small spark of joy and pride that had grown within him after every baptism slowly wither and die. Looking at the despondent Elders around him, he'd known they'd felt the same. He had tried to come up with something uplifting to say, something that would have made things better, but his mind had gone blank. What could he have said? It had been his job as district leader to keep the Elders in check, to make sure the rules were being followed and that the baptisms were legitimate. Instead, he had allowed their two newest Elders to run amok with no supervision, and when Elder Cunningham had told them that several villagers wanted to convert, he hadn't even thought twice about it. He had been so desperate to have their district finally baptize someone, _anyone_ , that he had gone along with it without even questioning the villagers' knowledge about the scripture.

In the end, it had been Elder Price who had shown them what had been right in front of them the whole time. Just as they had been on their way to the bus stop with their proverbial tails between their legs, he had stopped them in their tracks and somehow convinced them that they could still complete their mission, that they could still do so much good here, in this village. Somehow he had reignited a spark Connor had thought had been extinguished forever. Connor had been mesmerized by how different this Elder Price had seemed from the boy who had arrived in Uganda mere days before. Brown eyes burning wild with a fiery passion as he cursed out the mission president; his hair disheveled with strands sticking up as he ranked his hands through it; his shirt wrinkled, untucked, and marred with brown spots and sweat stains as he gesticulated erratically in his bid to get them to stay.

In the heat of the moment it had been an easy decision: go home in shame or stay here and persevere. But now, sitting at the kitchen table alone while some of the Elders napped while others were out in the village, Connor finally had had time to stop and think about the ramifications of their decision. What were they going to do about money? How would they upkeep the mission house without the Church's support? What about their visas? They _needed_ the Church to continue doing their work. All he knew for certain was that somehow they'd have to go to Kampala and talk to the mission president, persuade him to change his mind and reopen District Nine. As the District Leader, he would have to go, and ideally he'd convince Elder Price to come with him. While Connor didn't know the other Mormon very well, he knew, just from his reputation and his short interactions with him, that he could convince anyone of anything. That, and Connor didn't think the president would be very open to listening to Elder Cunningham.

But Connor hadn't seen Elder Price since he'd stopped them from getting on a bus to Kampala, and instead had convinced them to stay here and continue their mission. The other boy had gone straight to his room after they'd gotten back and hadn't come out since. He supposed he could just go and knock on his door, ask him if they could talk, but for some reason Connor was reluctant to disturb him. If he'd holed up in his room it had to have been for a good reason, and Connor was loath to impose. So he'd have to lure him out somehow.

Connor sighed and looked around himself, his gaze roaming across the kitchen cabinets and countertops and resting on the bag of flour sitting by the stovetop. He tilted his head sideways and frowned, a feeling of excitement and unease coming over him. He hated cooking—he downright sucked at it—but he'd never been able to erase all the lessons his mother had tried to impart upon him when he'd been younger. Despite all his failures, there had been one shiny moment of glory when he hadn't outright failed at making something in the kitchen. And that moment was such a vivid memory that to this day he still knew the recipe by heart.

Connor took a fortifying breath and made his way to the bag of flour. For the sake of the mission, he would try to lure Elder Price out of his room and mellow him out. After all, didn't they say that the quickest way to a man's heart was through his stomach?

Arnold frowned as he approached the mission house with Elder Neeley in tow. He looked at the house and its immediate surroundings but he couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. Even so, there was something that just felt wrong. He'd just turned to ask Elder Neeley if he felt it too when he saw it, black smoke billowing from the back of the house.

"Elder Neeley!" he shouted, panic suddenly gripping him. "Fire!"

Elder Neeley didn't need any prompting; he'd seen the smoke too. He broke out into a run and slammed the front door open, coughing as the black smoke tickled the back of his throat, and squinting his eyes as they teared up, the smoke irritating them. Almost blindly he made his way further into the house and distantly heard a loud bang coming from the back of it—Elder Cunningham slamming the back door open in an attempt to clear out the smoke. Ahead of him he heard the sound of something splashing, and as he made his way to the kitchen he nearly bumped into a shadow that had emerged from the hallway. He reached out his hand, intent on taking hold of the person and possibly dragging them out of the house, when the shadow nearly jumped a foot in the air, immediately followed by a choked sound and loud, painful coughing. Instinctively Elder Neeley snapped his hand back and saw through the clearing smoke the unmistakable outline of Elder Price backed up against the wall, hands covering his face as he continued to cough uncontrollably. Without pausing to think, he grabbed the other Mormon by his shirt and pulled him back toward the front door, back toward fresh air.

The two of them emerged from the house covered in black soot. Elder Neeley guided them a few steps away from the front entrance and had no choice but to let go of the other boy as he twisted away from him. He watched as Elder Price all but collapsed to the ground on all fours, desperately trying to get his breath back in between deep, rattling coughs.

"What—" Elder Price coughed a couple more times and turned his head to the side to spit something out. "What the hell is going on?"

Elder Neeley couldn't help his flinch at the word. Elder Price might feel comfortable with that kind of language now that he had all but forsaken the Church, but Elder Neeley was not quite there yet, and to be honest, he didn't think he'd ever get there. He took a few cleansing breaths as well but before he could answer he saw Elder Cunningham rounding the side of the house, Elder McKinley a couple of steps behind him and holding a tray in his hands.

"Elder McKinley?" he questioned, his eyes glued on the tray.

"I'm so sorry!" Elder McKinley cried as he neared them, blue eyes darting between him and Elder Price, who had apparently given up trying to look dignified and had plopped down on the ground. "It's my fault! I'm sorry!"

"Elder McKinley," Elder Price started only to be interrupted by another cough. "What happened? I was sleeping in my room, and the next thing I know, I wake up and there's smoke everywhere."

Elder Neeley couldn't tell if Elder McKinley's face was red because he was blushing or because he had just come out of a burning house. _The house!_

"It's okay, Elder Neeley," Elder McKinley said as he put a hand on his shoulder, reading the other man's expression and stopping him in his track. "There's… there's no fire. It's just…" Elder McKinley looked at the ground, his expression clearly sheepish. "It's just smoke."

Elder Neeley looked from Elder McKinley's guilt-ridden face to the tray he was holding in one hand and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He took a step closer to the redhead and peered down at the black, unrecognizable forms in the tray. He glanced up and glared.

"Are those… What are those?" he asked, pointing at the tray.

Elder Price craned his neck up, seemingly too tired to get up but curious about what the Elder had seen on the tray. Elder Neeley took pity on him and, with no small amount of trepidation, he picked up one of the charred lumps and tossed it at the other Elder, who deftly caught it in his hands. Elder Price rotated the lump from side to side, peering at it closely as he examined it. He let out a small gasp and jerked his head up to look at Elder McKinley incredulously.

"Are these supposed to be _cookies_?"

Elder McKinley blushed even more. "I was just…"

Elder Price brought the cookie up to his nose and took a small whiff. He cringed away immediately. "Wow, these are…" Slowly he brought the cookie to his mouth and took a small bite. "Urgh."

"Well, what did you expect," Elder Neeley asked, crossing his arms. "Those are burnt beyond recognition."

"Elder Mckinley put salt in these instead of sugar," Elder Price declared as he tossed the cookie over his shoulder. "Not to mention they're hard as a rock."

"I thought we'd agreed you wouldn't cook ever again, Elder McKinley," Elder Neeley accused him.

"I know!" Elder McKinley said, the smallest tinge of a whine to his voice. "But I just… I wanted to try to make something that would cheer you guys up. And I thought, well, cookies are nice."

"How do you even know _how_ to make cookies?" Elder Neeley asked, flummoxed.

"It's… Well, I made them once with my mom, and it's the only recipe I ever made that actually came out right." Elder McKinley smiled sheepishly. "In retrospect, it's entirely possible that my mom being there to supervise me had a lot to do with the cookies' success."

The other Elders looked at one another and then the tray of burnt cookies. Elder Price peered around Elder Cunningham to look at the smoking house and frowned.

"I don't get it," Elder Price said, pointing a finger at the tray. "Even if you did overcook them, it shouldn't have made that much smoke." Elder Price raised an eyebrow as Elder McKinley's turned his face away, clearly avoiding eye contact with any of them. "What did you do?" Elder Price asked slowly, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"I… Well…"

"They caught on fire, didn't they?" Elder Price accused. Elder McKinley cringed. "And you dumped liquid on them to put out the fire," the brunette surmised. Elder McKinley nodded slowly. "Well, at least that explains the amount of smoke. Hopefully it'll clear out soon. I could really go for some of my cold brew."

"Yeah… About that…"

Elder Neeley hadn't thought it was possible for Elder McKinley to look more uncomfortable than he already did, but clearly he had some very bad news to impart. And judging by the way he was slowly but surely inching away from Elder Price, Elder Neeley could only imagine what disastrous information the redhead was about to impart.

"I… May have sort of possibly used your brew to put out the fire." Elder McKinley said all at once.

" _You what_?" Elder Price screeched.

"I'm sorry!" Elder McKinley whined.

Before Elder Neeley or Elder Cunningham could move, Elder Price lunged toward Elder McKinley, who dodged the attack, dropped the tray of burnt cookies, and made a run for it.

"Come back here, McKinley!"

"No! I'm sorry! I promise to make it up to you! I'm sorry!"

"Get back here, you horrible little ginger man!"

Elder Neeley watched as Elder McKinley ran as fast as he could down the road that lead toward the village, Elder Price trying and failing to keep up with him, stopping after a few yards and doubling over, coughing. Elder McKinley kept running even as Elder Price seemed to give up the chase, opting instead to sit back down and tuck his head in between his knees.

"Bestie!" Elder Cunningham yelled as he took off toward Elder Price.

Elder Neeley looked from the path where Elder McKinley had disappeared from, to Elders Price and Cunningham, both of whom were sitting on the ground, and back toward their house, which still had black plumes of smoke seeping from the open doors and windows. He shook his head and sighed. Hopefully it would have cleared up by the time the other Elders returned and night fell. Elder Neeley had no intention to keep any of the windows open and finding out the hard way if Nabulungi was telling the truth about the flies that like to lay their eggs under his skin.

3.

Connor sighed, annoyed, as he sidestepped another puddle of ice. He loved being back in the States, and more than anything he loved being back and _not in Utah_ , but sometimes he missed the Ugandan hot summer heat. Like everything else in life, he'd never properly appreciated the weather in their little African town until his mission was over and he'd come back home in the middle of winter. After two years with nothing but oppressive heat and torrential downpours, he'd forgotten was it was like to be plunged into subzero temperatures.

The fact that Kevin and Arnold had stayed in Uganda to finish up their mission had only made those few winter months more miserable. He had hated not being able to speak to Kevin whenever he wanted, to not be there for him to comfort him if he had a nightmare. He'd known Arnold, Nabulungi, and the other villagers would be there to help and take care of their favorite Super-Mormon, but, and no offense to them, they weren't him. Thankfully it had only been for a short time, and before long, he'd been standing at the arrival terminal of the international airport, a sign in his hands and three warm parkas on a seat next to him.

His stomach had been full of butterflies and he could barely suppress the nervous jitters running through his body. He'd been so busy craning his neck over the crowd, hoping to glimpse his friends through the thick throng of people, that he'd almost missed them entirely. He'd heard Arnold before he'd seen them, his voice so loud and cheerful it had been absolutely unmistakable. The shorter man had been complaining about the food on the airplane as Nabulungi smiled as she walked next to him. Kevin had been a pace or two behind them, brown eyes darting nervously from side to side and body wound up tighter than a cord.

Connor had felt his breath catch in his throat and before he'd known it, he'd ducked under the metal bars and lunged at Kevin. He'd collided against him with such force that he'd nearly bowled him over. Before Kevin could recover, Connor had leaned in and kissed him right there in the middle of the arrival gate, eyes clenched shut, his fingers gripping the soft brown strands of his hair. He'd felt a pair of familiar arms hugging him tightly, and he'd pressed himself even closer to the warm body in his arms. He'd pulled back just long enough to suck in some air before diving back in for another kiss, and another, and another.

"Guys," Arnold had said, one hand on Connor's shoulder and trying to pull him backwards.

Connor had dislodged him and held on more tightly to Kevin, kissing his lips, his cheeks, his forehead. He'd leaned in for one more kiss before pulling Kevin more tightly to him, holding him so fiercely he hoped they would fuse together and he'd never have to let go. He'd felt a puff of warm breath against his ear as Kevin had chuckled softly, arms squeezing him just as tightly.

"I take it you missed me?"

"Shut up," Connor had grumbled.

"Guys!" Arnold had whined.

Kevin had placed his hands on Connor's shoulder and gently pushed him a couple of inches away so he could rest their foreheads together. "Hi."

Connor had smiled. "Hi."

"Guys! Come on! Everyone is staring at you," Arnold had pushed them unceremoniously away from the arrival gate and toward the benches where Nabulungi was waiting by a pile of coats.

Connor had grabbed Kevin's hand and squeezed it tightly. "Hi Naba," he'd greeted her warmly, giving her a quick kiss on her cheeks.

"What am I? Chopped liver?" Arnold had asked indignantly.

Connor had turned to him, smiling stupidly. "I missed you too, Arnold."

"I'm just glad you didn't miss me as much as you missed Kevin," he'd teased.

Kevin had turned then to bury his nose in Connor's hair, and the redhead had nearly melted into a puddle of contentment. He had his friends back, he had his boyfriend back, and he finally felt happy and whole. He'd let Arnold's comment slide by and silently handed them the parkas he had brought with him so they could all face the snow and freezing temperatures outside.

And now, a few months later, Connor found himself dodging patches of black ice that shouldn't have been there considering how close it was getting to springtime as he carefully made his way back to the two bedroom apartment he shared with his friends. He shouldered the door open and made a beeline to the kitchen to dump the shopping bags he'd been carrying. He groaned softly and popped his back, wondering when it was that he'd gotten old. He used to be able to carry this much food for much longer distances back in Uganda, and now he felt like his back was about to give out from walking just a few blocks from the bus stop to the kitchen.

He started to hum as he put the groceries away, but the distinct sounds of small shuffling steps coming from the hallway gave him pause. He frowned. He hadn't been expecting anyone home; in fact, he was pretty sure everyone else should have been in class or at work right now.

"Hello?" he called out, leaning across the threshold of the doorless archway.

There was a loud, hacking cough and more shuffling steps before Nabulungi rounded the corner. Connor took one look at her and went into mother-hen mode.

"Naba, what's going on?" he asked as he walked towards her and gently steered her towards the living room.

She coughed a few more times, her breath wheezing in her chest. "It's just a cold."

Connor frowned. "That doesn't sounds like just a cold. Have you been to the doctor?"

She sighed. "Kevin made me an appointment for tomorrow."

Connor couldn't help but smile at that. Kevin was still as bossy and self-righteous as he'd always been, but at least now his worst two personality traits were directed at helping others instead of only helping himself. It didn't necessarily make it any easier to deal with him when he got it in his head that he was right and you were wrong _and he was going to_ _prove it to you_ , but it helped just a teeny tiny bit.

"How about you just lay back and I make you some soup?" Connor asked as he helped her sit on the couch.

"No!" she cried, hands gripping his forearm even as she exploded into a hacking, painful cough.

Connor stared at her in alarm as the wheezing worsened. He pushed her down onto the couch, fluffing some pillows to help keep her upright to ease her airways. "Whoa, calm down. Deep breaths, Naba. Come on, honey."

Slowly the coughs subsided and Nabulungi all but melted into the pillows, sliding down and sinking into the couch. "No cooking," she mumbled even as her eyes closed.

The next second, she was asleep, soft snores echoing in the silence of the house as she breathed through her mouth, small tiny coughs jarring her every few seconds. Connor brushed his hand across her forehead and frowned at the heat he felt radiating from her. She probably had bronchitis, though he seriously hoped it wasn't pneumonia. Good thing Kevin had already made her a doctor appointment. Connor only hoped he'd scheduled it for when someone was available to accompany her, because it didn't look like she'd be able to get herself anywhere any time soon.

Looking at her, Connor couldn't suppress the surge of protectiveness that came over him. Now he was determined to do something for her. And honestly, how hard could it be to make some soup? He was sure Kevin had a cookbook somewhere that would tell him what to do.

An hour later and Connor was dumping chicken, onions, carrots, and celery into a pot full of water, the burner set to medium. The cookbook had said to peel and roughly chop everything, which was great because Connor didn't particularly trust himself with a knife, and to just leave the whole thing alone for a couple of hours. That seemed easy enough. Satisfied with his work, Connor grabbed a glass of juice and made his way back to the living room to check on Naba.

He brushed his hand across her forehead and frowned. She still felt warm. _They seriously needed to invest in a thermometer_ , he thought gloomily. _How ridiculous that a house with Kevin Price was was so depleted of basic medical supplies_. The thought had just crossed his mind when he heard the deadbolt unlocking and he looked up to see the devil himself walking through it. Connor smiled at that analogy, his mind picturing Kevin bare-chested with tribal painting, tight leather pants, and elegant horns sticking from his head. He licked his lips at the mental image; talk about a total 180 degrees from his days snapping awake from spooky Mormon hell dreams.

"Why do you have that face? I _know_ that face," Kevin said as he stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the living room. "That's your 'dirty thoughts' face. Why are you having dirty thoughts while sitting next to Naba? Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Hi to you too, sweetie," Connor whispered partly exasperated but still turned on beyond belief at the mental imagine of a bare-chested Kevin wearing leather pants. "Do you own any leather pants?"

Kevin raised an eyebrow. "I do not…" Connor could see his pupils slowly dilate and a flush working its way up his neck. "Is that something I should think about investing in?"

Connor smiled lewdly as he slowly got up off the couch and walked towards him, licking his lips suggestively. He watched Kevin's Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed. Connor methodically crowded him against the wall and titled his head up to he could lick him from the crook of Kevin's neck up to his chin. He smashed their mouths together, his tongue darting in and out to trace Kevin's lips. He felt Kevin lean into him, opening up his mouth beneath his tongue, but he pulled back, landing one more chaster kiss on his lips.

"Connor," Kevin whined.

"I want you in leather pants," Connor panted even as he pressed their bodies together and grinded up just enough to elicit a small gasp from Kevin. "Let's go."

" _Now_?" Kevin asked incredulously. " _Right_ _now_?" Kevin watched as Connor grabbed his scarf and coat and slipped on his boots. "That is so _unfair_!"

"I'll make it up to you," Connor promised, blue eyes twinkling mischievously.

Kevin gulped again and nodded frantically. "Okay. Fine. The sooner we get these pants the sooner we can be back." He'd just turned around to pull the door open when he heard a small cough coming from the living room. He stopped in his tracks and looked toward the couch. "You think Naba will be okay by herself?

"Yes, she'll be fine. Speaking of which, we need a thermometer in this house. I can't believe you of all people don't own one." Connor opened the door and all but shoved Kevin out into the hallway. "Now come on, those pants won't buy themselves."

And with that, Connor pushed Kevin out the door.

Two and half hours later, Connor and Kevin stumbled into the apartment, tongues down in each other's throats, Kevin's hands buried in Connor's red hair while Connor's hands gripped Kevin's ass through his newly purchased leather pants. The feel of the fabric under his hands as he squeezed them, along with the needy little noises Kevin was making, were heady and Connor found his brain stalling to a complete stop.

He was just about to start steering them toward their room when Kevin suddenly jerked to a stop and pulled himself away from Connor's mouth. Connor groaned and squeezed his hands one more time, leaning forward and grinding himself against Kevin, feeling Kevin's erection straining in the tight leather fabric. He tilted his head slightly and mouthed at Kevin's neck, a pleased little smile coming over his lips when he felt the other man shudder under his ministrations.

But once again he was pushed away and this time Kevin held him at arm's length, preventing him from distracting him again. Of course, Kevin was a distraction onto himself. His hair was a complete mess from where Connor had run his fingers through it as they'd come up the stairs, and his lips were red and swollen. There was the tell-tale sign of a bruise starting to blossom on his neck, and Connor couldn't help himself from licking his lips as he stared at it. He tried to take a step forward to resume his activity on Kevin's neck but the taller man tightened his hands on Connor's shoulders, effectively stopping him in his track.

Connor groaned in defeat. "What? _What?!_ " he exclaimed, frustrated.

"Do you smell that?"

"Smell _what_? I don't smell anything," Connor whined.

But even as he said it, he smelled it. There was something burning. Something… _Oh shit_! Connor pushed Kevin away and ran toward the kitchen. He rounded the corner and saw thin wisps of smoke coming from the stove and cursed profusely under this breath. He reached the stove just as the fire alarm started blaring and a startled cough from the living room rent the air.

"Open the windows!" he shouted to Kevin as he turned off the stove and ineffectively waved his hands over the pot.

He looked down at what had once been a smooth non-stick surface and cringed. The bottom of the pan was coated in burned vegetables and chicken. Some of the non-stick coating had flaked off, and Connor could see that the bottom of the pan was now warped. He heard Kevin walking up to him and felt him stop right behind him so he could peer down over his shoulder.

"What's going on?"

"I… Well…" Connor started but stopped.

"Connor," Kevin said warningly.

"I… I wanted to make Naba something to eat," Connor explained meekly. "I thought, well, soup didn't seem too hard to make based on one of your cookbooks."

There was a moment of awkward silence before Connor heard the sound of a small choke. "Are you telling me that you convinced me to go out to buy a pair of leather pants and left our very sick friend with the stove still on?"

Connor cringed. "In my defense, I forgot I was making soup. You distracted me."

" _I what_?" Kevin yelled. "I _distracted_ you? I'd barely walked through the door before you were shoving me out of it to go buy some pants!"

Connor glanced down and smirked. "They are _some pants_ ," he leered.

"That's it. You're not getting your fun," Kevin declared as he turned around and stalked toward their room.

"Where are you going?" Connor cried out as he followed him, only to be stopped by their bedroom door slamming shut in his face.

"I'm changing into sweats! No leather pants for you! You better go clean up that mess you made. And you owe me a new pot, Mr. Leather Pants Kink!"

"Urgh!" Connor groaned, banging his head against the door. "Fine!" he cried out, raising his hands in the air as he turned around and stalked back to the kitchen.

He stopped in the middle of the living room when he saw Nabalungi awake and reclining against the pillows, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. Connor raised an eyebrow.

"Nice pants Kevin's got on," she croaked, her voice so hoarse it was almost unrecognizable.

Connor blushed but smiled, pleased with himself. "They are, aren't they?" he said dreamily.

"Too bad you burned my soup. Can't say I sympathize with you at the moment since you left me alone with the stove turned on," she glared at him.

And even with her hair plastered down from sweat, and her color paler than it should have been, Connor still took an involuntary step back and away from her. "Yeah, sorry about that," he apologized.

She glared at him fiercely and Connor gulped. "Go make me some tea."

He didn't wait to be asked twice.

4.

Connor slammed the front door of the apartment open and swiveled to look at the clock hanging in the living room: 4 p.m. He had about two or three hours before Kevin was home from work and he was determined to get this done and get it done right before he walked through the front door. With his mind made up, Connor grabbed his laptop from his bag and dumped the rest of his things by the door—he'd pick them up once he was done—and marched toward the kitchen.

He grabbed the biggest pot he could find and placed it on the stove top before gathering the rest of his ingredients and putting them on the counter. He powered up his computer and pulled up the YouTube video he'd found the other day. He cued it up and sat down to watch it once all the way through, making sure it was exactly as he remembered it. The recipe didn't seem that complicated, and there wasn't a whole lot of chopping, so there's wasn't much chance of him cutting himself and bleeding all over the kitchen.

Satisfied this was the right video, he set to work. With a smidge of trepidation he turned on the stove to medium high, and then started the painstaking process of cutting up the onion. Just as he began to cry from the fumes, he took a small step away from the cutting board and toward the stove so he could add some oil to the pan. He followed the directions of the video religiously, first cooking the onions and stirring them every other minute to make sure they didn't burn. Next adding in the ground meat and breaking it up with his spatula until it had turned brown. Then he poured in the beef stock and chopped tomatoes, dumped in the tomato paste, and mixed in the spices. He coughed a little as he stirred everything together, and set both the timer on his phone and the oven timer.

He looked at his phone and frowned: 5:15 p.m. It had taken him a lot longer to get everything cooking together. But at least now he had about forty-five minutes to set up the apartment and hopefully get cleaned up before Kevin was home. Today had to be perfect. With uncanny efficiency, Connor set to work on the living room and dining area. He picked up the things he'd dumped by the door when he'd walked in and stored them in the hallway closet. He rummaged behind a couple boxes of tissue paper and pulled out the box he had stashed behind them so Kevin wouldn't see it.

With meticulous care, he set about placing candles all over the living room and dining room. He pulled out the crisp, white table cloth and spread it over the dining table, smoothing it down and making sure it draped evenly on all sides. He ran back to the kitchen and gave the contents in the pot a little stir before he grabbed the nicest plates and cups he could find and set up the tableware. He checked his phone again: 5:45 p.m.

He didn't dare go take a shower so close to the time he'd need to turn off the stove, but he might not have time for one if he waited. And he wanted to make sure he'd have enough time to light all the candles before Kevin got home, otherwise all this efforts would have been in vain. He huffed a little, annoyed at the mental back and forth and the fact this indecision was making him waste precious time. There was only really one way to know for sure. He pulled out his phone one more time (5:48 p.m.— _how had he managed to waste three minutes debating the merits of taking a shower_?) and pulled up his messenger app.

 _Hi honey_ , he texted. _What time do you think you'll be home?_

Connor stared at the phone, willing it to divulge the answers to him right that second. He tapped his index finger on the side of the phone impatiently, wondering what was taking Kevin so long to reply back. That man really needed to be more on the ball when it came to checking his text messages, especially since he always kept his phone on silent at work. Connor nearly leapt out of his skin when his phone chimed with a new text.

 _Why? You got something in mind? ;-*_

Connor very nearly growled. That man could be so infuriating! But two could play that game.

 _Why don't you just get here and find out?_

The answer, this time, was nearly instantaneous.

 _I'll be there in 15 minutes. I hope your plan involves you, a bed, and no clothes._

Connor grinned the toothiest grin ever. He wouldn't have time for a shower but that was okay. He could shower later, and even better, he could drag Kevin into the shower with him. He hurried to their bedroom and quickly changed into fresh clothes, then ran back to the kitchen to turn off the stove before the contents in the pot burned. Pleased that for once there was no black smoke billowing from the food he'd prepared, he made his way to the living and dining rooms and set about lighting all the candles he had set out.

Satisfied with this work, he turned off the lights and had just gone back to the kitchen to pull out the wine from the fridge when he heard the front door opening. He inched toward the kitchen doorway, hidden from view, and waited as the door opened. At first, there were no sounds. Then, softly, he heard footsteps walking over the threshold of the door and into the apartment, the door closing with a soft click.

"Connor?" Kevin asked hesitantly.

Connor smiled. It was very hard to impress Kevin Price, even more so to leave him semi-speechless, and from the sounds of it, or the lack thereof to be more precise, it looked as if Connor had managed the impossible. He listened as Kevin set his things down and took a couple more steps into the apartment. Slowly so as not to startle him, Connor rounded the corner and leaned against the wall, watching Kevin's back as he took in the scene around him. The entire room was bathed in the soft yellow glows of the candles, the crisp white linen of the dining table reflecting the light of the candles onto the windows.

Kevin turned slowly around himself until he faced the kitchen doorway where Connor stood watching him. "Hi," he said softly, a warm smile playing on his lips.

"Surprise," Connor said just as softly. He crossed the living room until he stood in front of Kevin and wrapped his arms around his neck, leaning in until their lips met in a chaste kiss. "Happy birthday."

Kevin smiled against Connor's lips and deepened the kiss before Connor pulled back. "I am surprised."

"Good," Connor smiled. "Now come on. I hope you're hungry," he teased as he grabbed Kevin's hand and pulled him toward the table.

"Ravenous," Kevin said suggestively as he stared at Connor and licked his lips.

Connor couldn't help himself—he turned around and pulled Kevin into a searing kiss, his tongue delving into Kevin's mouth as it opened up under his prodding. As soon as he'd started it he ended it, shooting Kevin a teasing look as he licked his lips. He smiled when he saw Kevin's eyes, pupils blown wide, zero in on his tongue. He turned back around before they both got sidetracked and all his efforts slaving away in the kitchen that afternoon went to waste. He led Kevin to the table and pulled the chair out for him, ignoring his bemused smile.

"Wait here," he ordered as Kevin sat down. "I'll be right back."

Connor made his way back to the kitchen to grab the wine that was chilling in the refrigerator. Even after all these years, neither of them drank all that much except on special occasions. And this, this was a special occasion. As he popped the bottle open and poured the wine into the glasses, he glanced over at Kevin and had to will his heart to stop beating so erratically. The brunette looked beautiful in the dim light of their apartment, and not for the first time Connor wondered how he'd gotten so lucky to have this man in his life. He handed Kevin one of the glasses, standing next to him by the table as he slowly lifted his own. Kevin mimicked him and he brought their glasses together with a soft _chink_.

"Happy birthday, babe."

Kevin smiled softly and reached up to rest his hand behind Connor's head, slowly bringing him down so he could kiss him again. For a few seconds, Connor forgot where he was—all that mattered was the feel of the mouth underneath his, the fingers scratching the back of his head, and the slow, languid slide of a tongue over his own. It was only when he felt his wine glass almost tipping over that he snapped out of it and reluctantly pulled away.

"Stop distracting me," he chided Kevin, who grinned impishly. "Stop that!"

"Stop what?"

" _That! That right there!_ You're trying to be cute! It won't work," Connor said determinedly.

"I'm not doing anything. I'm just sitting here, sipping on a fantastic glass of wine while my boyfriend tries to pretend he would rather serve me dinner instead of dessert," Kevin replied nonchalantly as he swirled the wine in his glass.

Connor could feel his blush spreading from his chest all the way to the roots of his hair. Kevin was clearly in a playful mood, which was Connor's favorite mood—especially because it always meant awesome, mind-blowing sex—but right now Connor had a plan, and Kevin was well on his way to ruining it. So Connor did the only thing he could do; he reached over and flicked at one of Kevin's ears, practically running back to the kitchen as Kevin's curse followed his departure.

"What was that for?" Kevin's voice rang from the dining room.

"You know perfectly well what for!" Connor replied as he dished the meal into the bowls and made his way back to the living room. "You were distracting me."

"Clearly it didn't work. Did you cook that?" Kevin made a face and Connor really couldn't blame him.

In the years since Uganda, Kevin had been trying, and mostly failing, to teach Connor how to cook. And it wasn't that Kevin was a bad teacher; quite the opposite actually. He was an amazing teacher. But Connor was hopeless. He burned everything he tried to make, undercooked his proteins, overcooked his starches, and was generally a mess in the kitchen. But Kevin never gave up on him, which was why this meal was so important. Connor had decided weeks ago that today he was going to do right by his boyfriend and prepare him an edible, home cooked meal.

"It's a perfectly fine meal. I followed all the directions."

"Did you taste it?" Kevin asked suspiciously.

"Of course," Connor lied, and he hoped to Heavenly Father that he had still been blushing when he said that because otherwise he'd just given himself away.

"Uh huh," Kevin said, looking between Connor's red face and the bowl in front of him. "Well, I will give you some props because this actually looks like chili."

"And it's your favorite recipe," Connor said as he took a seat and beamed at Kevin's incredulous look.

"You made it from the recipe in my binder?"

"It's a special occasion. And your directions were very clear, so thank you for that."

Kevin's smile was so bright it almost eclipsed the lights of the candles. Connor watched fondly as he tore off a piece of bread, spooned some chili onto it, and popped the whole thing in his mouth. And just as quickly he watched in horror as Kevin's face flushed an ugly red, sweat beading along his hairline as he made a sudden, mad dash toward the kitchen.

"Oh crud," Connor cursed under his breath as he followed him.

He watched in dismay as Kevin practically tore off the door of the fridge in his quest to grab the milk and started chugging it from the plastic container. Connor looked on in mild disgust as he drank nearly a quarter of the jug before leaning forward and resting his head on the cold stainless steel door.

"Kevin?"

"What—" Kevin coughed a couple of times to clear his throat. "What spices did you put in there?"

"The ones that the recipe called for!" Connor defended himself as he gestured toward the spices that were still lined up on the kitchen counter.

Kevin glanced over and seemed to do a double take, his eyes staring fixedly at the row of spices. Connor could feel his hackles rising; he'd been so sure he'd done everything right! Nothing had burned, nothing was undercooked, and nothing had exploded. So where had he gone wrong? He watched silently as Kevin reached out and grabbed a spice from the counter, staring at it for a couple of seconds before he burst out laughing. He tossed the container toward Connor, who miraculously managed to catch it.

He looked down at his hands and felt his face turn as red as Kevin's was at that moment. _Oh Heavenly Father_ …

"Oh," he said stupidly.

Kevin managed a small chuckle quickly followed by a hacking cough. He took another swing from the milk bottle. "' _Oh_ ' is right. I'm guessing you put that instead of…" He took another look at the spices behind him. "Huh. Instead of the chili, which, you know, sort of defeats the purpose of _making_ chili if you put cayenne pepper instead of chili."

Connor hung his head and covered his face with his hands. If only the floor would open up and swallow him.

"So…" Kevin drawled slightly, his Midwestern accent shining through as he took a step forward and hooked two fingers around Connor's belt loops. "Dinner is clearly out of the picture, since it's inedible." Connor let out a frustrated groan as he leaned forward and hid his face in Kevin's chest. "Can I have dessert now?"

Connor peaked up to see Kevin grinning like a loon. He sighed dramatically. "I was going to save this until after dinner but what the hell."

He grabbed a fistful of Kevin's shirt and pulled him to him as he backed up to lean against the counter. With a hop, he sat on the counter, spread his legs wide and pulled Kevin into his arms as he buried his fingers in the soft brown hair and started in on his favorite pastime: turning Kevin into a blubbering disheveled puddle of limbs.

 _When life gives you cayenne pepper…_

1.

Connor startled awake and groaned softly, turning his head to bury it in his pillow. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, burrowing into the pillow a little more. He sighed and turned his head just enough so he could look at the red lights of his alarm clock. _4:42am_. He groaned and turned back into his pillow. Why was he even awake? It wasn't because of a dream, at least he didn't think he'd been dreaming—he usually remembered those. And it definitely hadn't been because of a spooky hell dream— _he definitely remembered those_.

He sighed, looked over his shoulder, and froze. _Oh_. That could have been why he'd woken up. There was a whole lot of nothing and crumpled bed sheets where Kevin's warm, comforting, _sleeping_ body should have been. Connor plopped his hand on the empty space and frowned when he realized it was cold. This wasn't just a bathroom break then; Kevin had been up for awhile. Pushing himself up on his elbows, Connor looked under the door and saw a very faint streak of light. He unconsciously held his breath and strained to hear any noise, but everything was quiet.

Well, there was nothing left to it but to go and see where his boyfriend had gone off to instead of being where he should have been: asleep and cuddled next to him. He pushed the covers off himself and cursed softly as the cold air hit him. It was the middle of winter, and between Kevin claiming he loved the cold just so he could keep the thermostat on low to save on the heating bill, and their apartment's crappy insulation, Connor was a very cold, grumpy man. He pulled on a sweater and some socks before padding out the door and toward the light.

He stopped at the entrance to the living room and grimaced. Kevin had his back to him and had jammed himself into a corner of their couch, his thighs pressed against his chest and his head resting against his knees. He was rocking back and forth slightly, and if Connor held his breath he could just make out his ragged breathing and small whines as he tried to stop the sobs. A nightmare; and not just any nightmare but one of _those_ nightmares, the ones that occasionally came back to haunt him from the time the General had raped him.

Kevin always retreated whenever he had one those, thinking of himself as weak and pathetic that even after all these years he could still be so affected by that one moment in time. Connor knew he hated the feelings that came with the nightmares: the panic, the anxiety, the anger, the depression. Looking at him now, curled up on himself, rocking back and forth and making as little noise as possible, Connor made a mental note to remind himself to talk to Kevin about scheduling an appointment with his therapist for some time this week.

But first, he had an idea. Determined, he turned back the way he'd come and went into the kitchen. He knew Kevin wouldn't hear him putzing around the room; he was always too much in his own head after one of these nightmares. Connor frowned at the thought; he hoped this time wouldn't as bad as when it'd taken him half the night before Kevin had responded to his touch and voice. Almost on automatic, Connor grabbed the milk, chocolate powder, honey, vanilla, and cinnamon, and placed them all on the counter. He grabbed the copper bottom pan from the cupboard and poured the milk in it, setting it on the stove top on medium heat. He measured out the cocoa, cinnamon, and vanilla, stirred them in and let the mixture simmer. He let it be for a bit as he set about grabbing the mugs and pulling out the marshmallows. Just before it was done, he poured in some honey and stirred for a few seconds before tasting it.

He smiled.

He turned off the stove and slowly poured the steaming liquid into the mugs, topping them off with a few mini marshmallows. He made his way back to the living room, making a much noise as possible to try and get Kevin's attention so as not to startle him. When he got to the couch, he pressed his lips together so as not to sigh in frustration and sadness. Kevin hadn't moved an inch. He set one drink down on the table and slowly, careful of the hot drink he was still holding in his hand, he sat down in front of Kevin.

"Kevin?" he called out, waiting to see if he'd get any sort of response.

Kevin's head was still buried in his knees and his breathing seemed regular, but he hadn't shown any signs that he'd heard him. Gently he reached out the hand that wasn't holding the drink and placed it on Kevin's calf, squeezing lightly. Kevin stirred a bit at the contact and Connor did it again. This time Kevin's head moved slightly and Connor smiled as one eye peaked out from under disheveled bangs.

"Hey," he whispered as he gave in to the impulse and ran his fingers through the messy brown hair.

"Hi," Kevin croaked back.

"I made you some hot chocolate," Connor said as he presented him the mug he was holding. "Just the way you taught me."

Kevin smiled and took the proffered drink, holding it in both hands before taking a small sip. He closed his eyes and let out a long, satisfied sigh, his whole body relaxing into the couch cushions, his legs slowly coming away from his chest. He leaned sideways and let his body rest against Connor's, his head falling onto his shoulder. He moved with Connor as the redhead leaned forward to take hold of his own mug before resting back against the couch, one arm coming around Kevin's shoulder to bring him closer to him.

"Thanks," Kevin said as he took another sip of his drink.

Connor squeezed his shoulder. "You wanna talk about it?"

"No," Kevin replied softly, eyes downcast. "Not yet."

"Okay." Connor left it at that. He'd learned very quickly not to push it.

They sat together in silence for a few minutes, sipping at their hot chocolate, both of them lost in thoughts. Connor blinked his eyes back into focus when he felt Kevin shifting under him as he straightened up and pulled away slightly, just enough that Connor got the message and moved his arm from his shoulder to the back of the couch.

"I should call Dr. Layman, huh?" Kevin asked as he turned to look at Connor.

Connor shrugged. "I can't—"

"Connor."

He sighed. "Yes, you probably should."

Kevin nodded, lips pressed together in clear distaste. Connor couldn't help the smile that stretched over his mouth. This was usually the face Kevin made whenever he found out Connor had tried to cook something. Connor brought his hand up and raked it up Kevin's scalp, his smile widening when Kevin automatically leaned back into the caress, his eyes closing and his body relaxing once again. He let his hand rest on Kevin's head, his fingers pulling at his hair and watching as some of them stayed up and others flopped back down.

"Stop that," Kevin protested half-heartedly.

"Shut up and drink your hot chocolate," Connor grinned as he continued playing with his hair. Kevin took another pointed sip, his eyes glaring at Connor over the rim of his mug. "Oh, stop looking at me like that."

Kevin brought his mug down, and before Connor could move, he leaned over and gave him a fleeting kiss on his lips. "Thanks."

Connor smiled. "What for?"

Kevin shrugged. "For making me awesome hot chocolate?"

"Is that question or a statement?" Connor asked just to be an ass.

Kevin bumped him with his shoulder. "Seriously. Thank you."

Kevin squirmed around a bit until his back rested against Connor's chest, his feet burrowing under the couch cushion. Connor waited patiently, sipping his own hot chocolate and holding back a soft moan of pleasure at the spicy, sweet taste. He was glad he'd talked Kevin into showing him how to make the drink. The first time Kevin had made it for him, Connor had had one of _those_ days, the kind where everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. When Kevin had handed him the mug, he'd told him that his mother always made it for him whenever he'd had a rough day or was feeling down on himself. It was their special recipe, one she never made for anyone else. But now, he was making it for Connor.

That gesture had meant the world to Connor and he'd been determined to learn how to make it. Since that day, the drink had become _their_ special drink. Connor took another sip before relaxing back into the couch, his free arm looping around Kevin's torso, his head falling forward to rest on his head.

"Any time, sweetie," he said as he squeezed gently, feeling as Kevin leaned back to reciprocate the hug. "Any time."


End file.
